Count It All Joy

I sat there and watched the IV push the medicine into my veins.  At least watching the constant dripping of the liquid took my eyes away from my leg, which was rivaling an elephant in size.  It also took my mind off of the growing headache and constant shivering and sweating that was racking my body.  I sighed.  How had I ever thought this was a good idea?

Five months ago I had gotten the news:  I was going to Africa.

This was a dream come true for me.  As a little girl, I had sat in awe as missionaries shared their blurry slideshow pictures of exotic wildlife, beautiful people dressed in colorful clothing, and jungles filled with vines Tarzan would love to swing on.  Now I was going.  I would travel to Equatorial Guinea, a Spanish-speaking country in west Africa, and teach English for three months.  I would be one of those brave women travelling into strange and wondrous lands, returning with triumphant stories.

Only, it didn’t seem to be working out that way.  Although I spoke Spanish and had memorized every possible guidebook ever written on Equatorial Guinea, the culture shock had nearly bowled me over.  Things as simple as showering and doing laundry became almost insurmountable tasks.  Then there were my classes.  I was young, inexperienced, and completely overwhelmed by these generous strangers who sat before me, trusting me to guide them in a language that could prove the difference between a good, stable job for them and starvation for their families.

After about a month, however, I began to settle in to my new life.  I made friends, received guidance for my teaching, and learned how to take a good bucket shower.  Maybe that slideshow could happen after all.

Then came The Night.

I was in a small village attending a national youth conference for young Christians with other short and long-term missionaries.  And I couldn’t breathe.  My asthma had been aggravated by a long and dusty ride through the jungle in the back of a truck.  Dust from the road and exhaust from the diesel truck had settled into my lungs, making it virtually impossible to breathe.  A national pastor and a missionary drove the dangerous three hour drive at midnight to bring me to the nearest hospital.

At the hospital the doctors performed tests and told me (in rapid Spanish, of course) that I had a severe respiratory infection.  Oh, and a boil was causing my leg to swell (it would later grow to three times its normal size before the infection was completely removed).  And, by the way, I also had malaria.  It was a veritable trifecta of diseases.

So I sat and watched the IV drip and waited for my next antibiotic injection.

I wondered what possible good I was doing anyone at that moment.  Wasn’t I supposed to be helping others?   Hadn’t I gone to Africa to serve God?  I couldn’t even get out of bed.  I had just received an F in Missionary 101.  Then I felt God nudging me, whispering to me:

“So, things are hard right now?  They will be.  That’s life.  But you have a choice.  You can either choose to trust my faithfulness and praise me, or you can doubt my goodness and despair.  What will it be?”

I thought.  Could there be any upside to despair and doubt?  Would feeling sorry for myself help my situation?  Did I really want to doubt my God?

So I chose praise.  I chose joy.

In that very moment of choosing joy, I was suddenly filled with reminders of all of the blessings around me.  I was in a hospital with excellent care (and excellent care that I ended up paying only $40 for).  My malaria had been detected while in a country where malaria was a part of daily life, so the treatment was readily available and inexpensive.  The missionaries cheerfully helped care for a short-term missionary who was most likely more trouble than any other they had ever received.  Members of the Guinean church had been pouring constantly through my room, showing love to a near-stranger who was also a sister.

I not only chose joy, I experienced joy.

We can make all of the plans that we want, set our goals, and even achieve our dreams.  If we don’t have joy in them, however, what have we accomplished?  Life is hard.  Plans can get thwarted, goals get shattered, and dreams get snuffed out.  People betray us, jobs are lost, and loved ones die.  And it is hard—really and truly, gut-wrenchingly hard.

I don’t believe that choosing joy means denying the deep reality of the pain and sorrow that life brings.  Joy is not blind optimism.  True joy comes from the knowledge that God is.  He is with us.  That is why we can choose joy.

I learned that I can choose joy in the big, dramatic events like my African experience.  However, choosing joy in the everyday, mundane frustrations of life can be even more difficult.  Can I find joy (and refrain from yelling!) when my children slowly, laboriously tie their shoes completely unaware of the millions of items on my to-do list today?  Do I find it too easy to complain about traffic, about my boss’s demands, about more bills than money left at the end of the month?

These daily struggles can test my patience, my attitude, and my faith.  However, even in the midst of the struggle—whether life-altering or the seemingly small—by choosing joy, I choose God.

And He is all that I need.

(Linked to Thrifty Thursday, Faith-Filled Friday.)